


Kiss Her, Kiss Her

by EmberCelica



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 15:22:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6429877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmberCelica/pseuds/EmberCelica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had been laying on Trish’s lap too, back then, and Trish had been really, really focusing on how romantic relationships within bands tend to lead to disaster and horrible, devastating breakups. </p><p>Jo stared up at her with wide, blue eyes. Utter disaster, Trish thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Her, Kiss Her

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asteriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asteriel/gifts).



It took approximately an hour and a train change to go from Glenview to Wilmette, which Trish had accounted for when she took the MD-N down. It was twenty seven minutes until the UP-N came, and since it was 10am, she was just getting the stragglers of the morning rush hour. The shower she took that morning was purely so she wouldn’t fall asleep on the train and less about the fact she smelled a lot more flowery and less sweaty getting out.

She chewed on a bagel while walking around faces and coats, swallowing it down while contemplating the city above her. Chicago was pretty and she was sure she wanted to move into it once she graduated, but right now it wasn't her destination.  
  
The sky decided to curse her with downpour and fate tagged along with a faulty umbrella once she exited the underground in Wilmette. She swore under her breath and pulled her hood up, grateful that her fashion consisted of stretched jeans, t-shirts and big, baggy hoodies thrown on top. Overall, the trip was inefficient.  
  
"You live like, ten minutes away by driving," Jo said as Trish walked through the open door. Trish tried not to drip on the carpet when she hung her umbrella into the shoe closet. Each step inside was accented by a wet sneaker squeak.  "You could have driven over."  
  
"Mom was working and couldn't give me a ride," Trish responded, shoes squeaking on _mom_ and _work_ and _and_ and _n’t_ and _me_. She pulled off her soaked sneakers and deposited them in the closet. "I thought the Metro would be quick."  
  
Jo shook her head like Trish was some crazy idealist and not someone who guesstimated her travel time that morning. "An hour isn't quick, Tricia. Didn't they teach you time tables in first grade? Or did the acid rain outside soak in and melt your remaining brain cells?”  
  
“I’d say the same for you and peroxide,” Patricia shot back. Jo was a ridiculous picture of bleach blonde, with dark roots starting to grow back. She was clad in a t shirt too big for her, probably used to belong to an ex-boyfriend, and some shorts which were hidden under the shirt. So she got to sleep in before Trish got here. “If you were uglier, I would have said you were someone from NSYNC.”

Jo flipped her off and closed the door, cutting them off from the shitty, near the lakes rain weather outside. “Ouch. Super harsh, Stump.” She clutched at her chest, at where a heart would be under layers of skin and muscle, but what Trish suspected was actually just a black hole filled with Metallica CDs and cheeseburgers. “My self esteem is shattered. I think I’m gonna cry over the fact that you compared me to a super successful boyband.”

Trish rolled her eyes as Jo ended her theatrics and led them up to her room. Jo’s lack of pants showed off her pasty white legs, which Trish was kind of envious of. _Height._ Even by a few inches. "Where's Bacon?" She asked.  
  
"Locked in my brother’s room," Jo answered. She heard the barking as they passed the door, and she’s glad Jo took her seriously when Trish said she would skewer the dog with a mic stand next time he tried to bite her.

"Thank fucking god." Trish wasn't in the mood to get bit today.  
  
Jo's room was big and far cleaner than Trish's. Sure, her desk was cluttered, but the books and papers and pencils were all stacked, collected up, and the action figures on her book shelves were mostly all upright, save for a couple Siths, but Trish suspected that was more out of allegiance than messy behavior. Her bed was unmade, though, and covered with pink sheets Jo swore up and down she’s kept since she was ten.

Jo did a graceful fall into her desk chair, which wheeled across the floor until she stuck her feet out to stop it. She spun, like a blonde top, stopping to face the little TV in the room. “Mario?”

“Of course.” Trish went over and kneeled down to the N64 console, unraveling the controllers Jo wrapped up nicely, every time she wasn’t using them Controlling, wire-obsessive dork. Trish made a note to bug Jo to clean her room sometime. She gave Jo the golden one because it’s her console.

Trish sat on the floor while Jo slowly melted from the chair onto the floor next to her, both of them commentating and cursing over each other, collaborating on clearing levels. By the time they saved Princess Peach (technically, it was when Toad popped out and told them the bitch was in another castle, as always) Jo was laying on her side, resting her head on Trish’s outstretched leg. She placed the controller on the floor, an indication she was done with Mario for now. “Let’s do something else.”  
  
“Like what,” Trish said, automatically moving the joystick when the screen loads up on the level select. Jo was player one, so it was useless. Mario hopped in place at the boss stage.

Jo hummed and started bouncing her head off of Trish’s leg, specifically her thigh. "When are you gonna learn how to drive?"  
  
"Fuck you, and in June." Trish frowned and pulled away, letting Jo almost bang her head on her hardwood. “Stop that.” She can’t help that her legs are big and her thighs fat, though Jo had called them “plush” and “perfect for naps,” declaring so in the back of her shitty van, with Pete yelling his agreement from the driver’s seat. That was last summer. She had been laying on Trish’s lap too, back then, and Trish had been really, really focusing on how romantic relationships within bands tend to lead to disaster and horrible, devastating breakups.

Jo stared up at her with wide, blue eyes. _Utter disaster,_ Trish thought. "You’re really late on getting it,” she said, as if Trish wasn’t constantly reminded by this every time Jo picked her up for practice.

“Sorry, Miss _‘I had a huge crush on some scene guy so I became his chauffeur to get him into my band,’”_ Trish said. “Didn’t really want to rush my fate of dying in a car crash.”

All Jo did was raise her eyebrows. “It worked out, didn’t it?” With the band and with Pete, of course. A horrible week of hazing, something about underwear and inflatable whales, and Pete and her were friends for life. Trish is really glad she skipped that phase and Pete had declared them soulmates within the hour.

Trish sighed. “All we need is a drummer.” They burned through a listless amount of drummers, all okay by Trish’s standards (which were pretty high, and pretty unattainable) and nonpermanent in their band’s seating. People drifted away, became uninterested or stopped showing up to rehearsals and answering Pete’s calls, and the few that stayed a little longer than a couple weeks usually had a short-lived crush on Pete, which Trish couldn’t blame them for. The strongest ones would just have to learn to let it die through exposure of the real Pete Wentz.

“Shit,” Jo said. She rubbed a hand over her face. “What happened to all the good drummers?”  
  
“They’re all in better bands.” If people didn’t like the idea of being in a band with two girls, Trish thought, they were honestly better without them.

“We’ll find someone,” Jo said, sitting up to rest her head on Trish’s shoulder. Trish could smell her hair, long and tangled now, but soft on days when she showered and never really anytime else, but that’s beside the point. Her hair smelled like her bed.

Trish avoided silently smelling her friend’s hair by saying, "I could go back to drums."  
  
"No, no, no," Jo said with her eyes closed. "You're the singer, dear. You need to stay up there while we throw some lame ass, loser punk in the back who won’t stop staring at my ass."  
  
Trish shoved at her with her shoulder. "I used to be the lame ass, loser punk in the back, bitch."

Jo simply moved with the motion and fell against Trish again. “Are you gonna stare at my ass?” Trish choked a little on a laugh, and Jo snickered. "You're less lame than the guys I've seen, by the way."

“I'm laughing because, what ass?” Trish said, and Jo turned to glare at her before giggling.  

They migrated from the floor to Jo’s bed, because it was  soft and big and perfect for Jo to lay on, and Jo’s stomach was perfect for Trish to rest her head on.

"Why did you take the Metro today, Trish?" Jo asked. Her hand rested on top of Trish’s head, over the beanie cap Pete had gifted her way, way long ago, before their first show.  "My dad could have driven you over."  
  
Trish shrugged. Her hair poked out of the hat, short enough that if she tucked it all in, she could probably pass as a guy, save for the cheeks and the eyes.  "Didn't want to inconvenience anyone. Plus listening to music on the train is nice.” Sometimes an hour alone on a moving train was what someone needed in life.

Jo nodded, and comfortable silence floated over them. “Hey. Did you mean it?”  
  
Trish had been fighting the natural urge to drum her fingers on Jo’s leg. “What?”  
  
“That I’m ugly,” Jo said. “Like someone from NSYNC. Which is a total lie, because Lance Bass is amazing sexy.” _But still,_ is what’s not said. Jo curled a strand of bottle blonde hair around her finger, which meant a lot.

“Of course not,” Trish answered, because she’s stupid, insecurities are stupid, and she’s never been one able to hold her tongue, especially around people she’s as close to as Jo. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”  
  
The thing is, Jo was sort of hot. Her hair was insanely frizzy, her nose was big, and she was awkward and lanky and blessed with boobs only a cup or so smaller than Trish’s, but she loved Neurosis and played guitar like a fucking fiend, like an angel who descended from metal heaven. Her eyes were sharp and she was witty when she wasn’t on something, and she blew Trish out of the water in social interaction, funny and friendly and easygoing. So the way Jo said, “Damn right I am,” made Trish smile.

“The fact that you can name one of them just proves your inferior music taste, though.”

Jo smacked her on the head. “Fuck you, you hipster, elitist bitch.”

Trish humphed and decided to drop the subject. Jo, however, couldn’t seem to do that.

“Costello can kiss my ass,” Jo said quietly, and oh, those were fighting words. Trish leapt from the middle of the bed up to Jo’s face. She pulled her in for a headlock, because punches above the shoulder were saved for serious fights, and Trish’s rack could possibly suffocate Jo. Pete’s made enough jokes about it and suffered about the same number of punches for those jokes.

“Take that back!”

Jo’s cry of “Never!” was accentuated by her blind punches at Trish. Trish could see the crazy smirk on Jo’s face as she fought and pulled herself away, only to drag Trish closer, practically into her lap. Trish prepared herself for a fight.  And then it was different.

Jo didn’t retaliate, didn’t slap or drag Trish off the bed, but just held her there, by her sleeves, way too close to be simply heterosexual. The way she was staring at Trish--the way Trish stared back--something in the air changed.

“Take it back,” Trish repeated, because her mind wasn’t coming up with anything else.

Jo, for all her grace, complied. “Okay.” She didn’t let go. Trish’s hands were grasped on her shirt, because--because she had been expecting a fight, nothing else.

“You did that on purpose,” Trish accused quietly. They were inches away from each other.  
  
“I did,” Jo murmured, her tongue darting out to lick her lips, chasing the smile off her face. Trish didn’t know how her face looked. “Kiss me.”

Trish froze, still staring at Jo. Her breathing had been under control before this, but if she didn’t get away soon, it was going to get ragged, loud, like an anxiety attack. Jo’s hold on her wrists were loose, like she was giving the option for Trish to run. Trish didn’t want to run, didn’t want to move away from Jo, but she had no idea what to do here.

Both of them still had their eyes open, and if Jo kept staring at Trish like that, saying nothing, waiting for _Trish_ to respond, she was gonna possibly, most likely explode. She was betting on an earthquake or a lightning bolt to get them out of this situation.  
  
Trish pulled away, not taking her eyes off Jo even though every wave of embarrassment in her body told her to look away. Jo didn’t fight her. God, her hands were shaking. "I-I can't do this."  
  
"I’m sorry," Jo said softly. “Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be all aggressive like that, Patricia, I hope this doesn’t fuck up everything--” She ran her hand through her hair like she was gonna pull it out, anguished, and Trish cut off her frantic apologies before it could get worse.  
  
"No it's not that--God--I just," she crossed her arms, curling in on herself a little. "It's not the bi thing, it's--I've never kissed anyone before." She remembered conversations about liking boys and then liking girls, dark nights and sleepovers and staying up to watch the sunrise and then _Ghostbusters_ together. “I _want_ to, I do, I just.” She crossed her legs, really hating the fact she chose to wear jeans today and chose to get out of bed only to possibly have one of her best friendships ruined.

Jo laughed nervously. "You think I know either?" She ran a hand through her curls, pulling them back, a nervous tick Trish had picked up on in the months they've been hanging out together, sans Pete. Her cheeks were borderline pink. Trish imagined she looked the same. "You're kind of my first."  
  
"Like, first girl? Or--"  
  
Jo shook her head. "First ever."  
  
Something turned in Trish’s stomach, and Trish felt like the blush was traveling from her face to her neck and shoulders, all over her body. Maybe it was the bagel from the train station acting like a stone in her gut, but she liked the idea of being a first for Jo. It could be nice, something private between them, and Trish either wanted to make it happen now or possibly never be alive again.  
  
Trish took a deep breath and exhaled, then scooted closer to Jo again. Jo, for her part, gave her a soft smile, but didn’t move. Her fingers still fidgeted though.

 _Lazy bitch,_ Trish thought. Making her do this first kiss shit on her own. Trish tried to pretend there was a guitar between them and the reason Trish was getting so close was she wanted to look at Jo’s finger placements.

"Shit, where do I put my hands?" She tried placing them on Jo's leg, which was too much skin and warmth and the action made her feel like she was going too fast, even though though they crossed the border of personal space a long time ago. She flinched back and hid her hands in her lap. Shit, she was gonna fuck up both their first kisses. This was gonna fuck up everything.  
  
"We should start easy," Jo said, seeing that Trish was undoubtedly done her turn. She reached into Trish’s lap. Before Trish could question that, she lifted up Trish's hand and kissed the back of it, lacing her fingers.  
  
"Gross," is all Trish could squeak out, totally, absolutely making a fool of herself. "That’s really unsanitary.”  
  
“Well, unless you snuck away from me to use my bathroom and didn’t wash your hands.” Jo stared at her, aghast, still holding her hand. "Do you not wash your hands?"  
  
"Of course I wash my hands!"

Jo raised a brow. “Uh, okay then. Don’t know why you’re against hand kisses, then.”  
  
Trish wanted to roll her eyes and scream and she also wanted to melt into the Earth and die. "Just kiss me," Trish demanded, voice high-pitched. This was _nothing_ like stage fright.  
  
"You're rather bossy for someone who was shaking five seconds ago."

“Well, it’s fake confidence, so it’s gonna run out soon if we don’t do something about this.”

Jo sighed and scooted closer. “Lean in.” Since Trish was nervous too, she could ignore how Jo’s voice shook a little. She held Trish’s face in one hand, guiding her closer. The pads of her fingers felt rough on Trish’s cheek.

Trish’s eyes fluttered shut and she braced for anything. She registered Jo turning her face before she felt lips pressed to her cheek. Screaming was an option. All she did, though, was blush red and glare at Jo when she pulled away.

“What?” Jo said, fighting back nervous giggles. Trish thought she was gonna pass out. “I thought we were taking it slow.”

“Slow, not snail’s pace. Not so slow I can feel myself age and the Earth rotate, Trohman. Not so slow that I’m practically going to go light headed and die, you bitch.” Trish felt like she was gonna burst, just from nerves and anticipation but because she just wanted to get this over with and _kiss_ Jo.

Jo just sat there, watching Trish, giggling like a madman, amused as a motherfucking cat, and Trish thought _Fine,_ and leaned forward to catch Jo’s lips, that stupid, beautiful smile. She kept her eyes open and saw Jo’s wide eyes flutter before they closed and Jo kissed back. Trish still felt like she was on fire. She had reached out to touch Jo’s neck and pull her in, and settled for letting Jo’s hair fall between her fingers.

“Wow,” Jo said. Trish resisted the urge to touch her own lips after they pulled away, but Jo couldn’t. She didn’t seem to care that she looked like a lovestruck fool.

Then again, Trish thought, she looked like one too.

They didn’t say anything for a while. Trish really, _really_ contemplated the importance of band dynamics. Then, Jo wisely said, “Practice makes perfect, you know.”  
  
If Trish had been standing, she would be rocking on her heels, all giddy. Instead she just smiled and drummed her fingers on Jo’s knee, glad that she got out of bed that morning. “Of course.”

Jo was soft and familiar, and her shirt smelled like detergent but Trish knew she hadn’t showered in a day, and she tasted like Cola and mint toothpaste and sweat. Jo cradled Trish’s face, pulled her down on her pink sheets and they laid next to each other, kissing until it dissolved into staring up at the ceiling, Jo’s hand on top of Trish’s. Occasionally, they’d look over at one another and laugh, but there was no explanation. Trish almost didn’t want to break the silence.  

So it was up to Jo to say, “This has to be good luck for the band, right.”

Trish said, “I can think of about twenty seven things that could fuck up this band, and most of them involve Pete.”

Jo hummed in agreement and snaked her arm under Trish’s head to be a pillow. Trish went along with it. “I don’t think he’ll like the idea of changing the ritual to include us kissing before a show.”  
  
“Funny, I think he’d love it. He’ll want to be included and then bitch about exclusiveness and favoritism for weeks.” Trish’s stomach, now free of twists and butterflies, growled. They could hear Bacon whining loudly from down the hall.

“We’ll figure it out,” Jo said, like an overall statement of the day. “Pre-show make outs are definitely a yes, then.”

“To the band,” Trish said, sitting up so she could kiss her again. Jo met her halfway this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the plain fact that there isn't enough Joetrick and kissing girls in this world. Dedicated to asteriel, of course.


End file.
